...had to make an emergency run up to Eagles.


We needed to get some much needed groceries... like Keebler Club crackers and whipped Cherry Chiffon yogurt (I once was sent to the store to get hot dogs and buns for lunch, and somehow I came back with $80 worth of groceries. Dani doesn’t send me out to the store much any more).

Anyway, when we got home, I parked the van in the driveway, and we were hauling stuff from the van, when Pepe said...


"I'll let you take the milk because of what you said about me."


"What was that?" I said.


"That I am a plate in a Chinese restaurant."


Huh?

I had no idea what he was talking about. A plate in a Chinese restaurant?

Okay, whatever.

I twisted a couple of plastic bags of groceries around my fingers (you know, so it cuts off the circulation - I have to carry in everything at once. Heaven forbid I make TWO trips! Never mind it takes as long to load up and struggle in six bags of groceries in one trip as it would to make two...). Anyway, I grabbed the gallon of milk in the other hand, and as I was walking through the garage, I kept thinking...

“A plate in a Chinese restaurant... ?


“A PLATE IN A CHINESE RESTAURANT???”


And then it dawned on me.


The other day, when Pepe had knocked over a glass of orange juice on the kitchen table, I had said...


“Pep, you are like...